Yesterday, the Old Boy and I had a day by the water. We visited the place where we scattered my parents’ ashes, down at Port Adelaide. The spot has a panoramic view of the docks and the Port River. We had lunch at the Birkenhead Tavern, which faces the river. It’s an old pub that has been around since the 1800s.

My mother’s family has a long history of association with the docks. My grandfather worked in the customs’ service there. My great-grandfather and great great grandfather also worked there, and I think a great uncle or great great uncle or two worked there as well. One of my relatives was fired from his job due to his love of the amber fluid, and I often wonder if the Birkenhead was one of his watering holes.

We had lunch sitting on the deck, looking out over the river. We could see the Fisherman’s market, the old lighthouse, the new fancy-schmancy town houses overlooking the river, some of the old buildings, the bridge and the river itself. As we ate our lunch, we could see one of the Port’s dolphins having a lovely time in the water near us.

The history of messing about in boats was spread out before us. From our perfect dining spot we could see the remaining hulk of the old City of Adelaide sailing ship that brought out some of the first European settlers. We could see the One and All, a two-masted sailing vessel that is still used today. There was the little Port Princess and the larger Dolphin Cruise ship. Both were busy toting sightseers along the Port River, out to the head of the river where it joins the sea and back again. A father and son were in a little one-masted, two-seater craft (a skiff?) that darted about the water like a mayfly. A couple of engine-driven fishing boats set off from the wharf, heading out to sea. And then there was something unusual…something rather extraordinary.

There was a young man seated on a jet-ski, puttering around in circles. Attached to the jet was a long orange tube and at the other end of that tubing was another young man with his feet clamped in a sort of stirrups contraption. Somehow the engine of the jet-ski was forcing water through the tubing and out the bottom of the feet things. This meant that the fellow standing in them was shot up into the air, balancing carefully on high-powered streams of water. He reached amazing heights: at least two body lengths up into the air and maybe more. Sometimes he aimed down at the water and plunged in and then back up again, similar to the way the dolphin was playing earlier in the day. It was quite some show.

I thought of my parents, their ashes now part of the river system, and I thought they’d both have really enjoyed watching the young men having fun with the water-jet-pack thingee. I’d brought some white roses from my garden – a large one and two small buds growing from one stem – which I threw into the water in memory of my rose-loving parents. It landed head first on top of the water, with the green stem sticking straight up. It gradually sailed away, like a tiny floral raft. Somehow that seemed just right.